


Shadow Mirror

by Anonymous



Category: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Asphyxiation, BDSM, Biting, Blood and Violence, Clones, Cock Rings, Consumption of smushhed spider, Dark, Degradation, Dom Kalim, Dom/sub, Drowning, Exhibitionism, Gangbang, Incest, M/M, Master/Slave, Murder, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, S&M, Skepel, Slapping, Smushed Spider, Snake Tongue, Throat Fucking, Urethral Play, Violence, Voyeurism, Whipping, backstabbing, dragon dick, spider - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26405791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: 1. Leona Kingscholar could succeed the throne, if only his now grown nephew would die. Days before Cheka's confirmation, Leona makes his move, but Cheka's response is unexpected to say the least.2. Cater has many faces, but a darkness lurks beneath them all.3. Vil has been used and abused by Idia, and Malleus' appearance only compounds his humiliation4. Jamil and Vil exchange services, and the birthday boy grants himself a wish.5. Jamil is rescued from certain death by the unlikely Epel, and finds himself growing a bit of a hero complex.6. Kalim is reunited with his slave, Jamil, and finds there is training to be reinforced.
Relationships: Cater Diamond/Cater Diamond, Epel Felmier/Jamil Viper, Leona Kingscholar/Cheka Kingscholar, Malleus Draconia/Vil Schoenheit, Vil Schoenheit/Jamil Viper
Comments: 2
Kudos: 85
Collections: The Dark Mirror





	1. Shadow Puppet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leona Kingscholar could succeed the thrown, if only his now grown nephew would die. Days before Cheka's confirmation, Leona makes his move.
> 
> Major Warnings: Incest, S&M, Violence, Noncon Elements, and more...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leona does not fuck around...and apparently, neither does Cheka.

All the years of fading into Farena's shadow... All the years of quiet humiliation... Since his graduation from Nightraven, Leona had been sent around the world on diplomatic missions as a member of the Kingscholar royal regime, yet never was he afforded true respect. As long as Farena wore the crown, Leona was less than nothing, not even his own man. He was a pawn for Farena's use, and nothing more.

And now... Now, his fate was to be sealed, for the crown prince was on the cusp of manhood. The ceremony that would name Cheka the official heir to the crown was only days away, and Leona was commanded to be in attendance, to watch his life's ambition slip through his fingers onto the head of a soft, weak, childish young man who knew nothing of heartache, sorrow, jealousy, or betrayal...

It was high time he learned.

"Cheka."

"Ojitan! You're home!"

As Cheka rose from the waters of the open-air bath, his long, sunset hair dripping around his fetching frame, Leona snarled softly. The nickname that was almost cute when spoken by a small child was an embarrassment from this grown man who held Leona's life in his immature, grasping hands...

"You've got balls, kid, I'll give you that..."

He wasn't talking about the naked sack swinging with every step of Cheka's lively, wading approach.

Smirking, Cheka seemed to prefer the literal interpretation. He stopped, placing his hands on his hips. "Don't I, though? You haven't seen me naked for years! Or even at all, lately! I've missed y—"

The young, royal lion's cheerful greeting was cut short by Leona's crushing grip on his throat. Pulling him off balance and digging the tips of his fingers into the sensitive flesh of his nephew's neck, Leona snarled again, this time in a dangerous, smoldering tone that precluded a soft exhalation of warm breath against Cheka's ear. He took his time, savoring the brand new scent of fear that Cheka had not yet been wise enough to experience when last they had met.

Humming by that ear, Leona ran his lips across the rim, savoring the scent of panic as Cheka struggled weakly to loosen the strangling grip about his neck. Giving him just enough room to breathe, Leona bit down hard on his nephew's ear, delighting in the gurgled cry his nasty, bloody bite elicited.

"Why do you think I've stayed away?" he growled, forcing his knee between Cheka's thighs and and rocking it forward hard until Cheka moaned as those proud balls squished mercilessly. His open mouth trailing across Cheka's face, tongue catching the young man's hair and teeth grazing skin, Leona grasped a firm, sculpted buttock in his free hand, kneading the flesh and holding Cheka still.

"Ojit... Le... Uncle, please..."

The tear-laden gasp only fueled the fire in the pit of Leona's stomach. Let the whelp beg. Let him scream. It wouldn't matter. One way or another, he wouldn't stand in Leona's way when all was said and done. Leona bit Cheka's chin and then released the stranglehold, tugging Cheka's hair roughly aside as he craned his neck to sink his teeth into Cheka's nape. The feel of that flesh in his mouth was heaven. If he just clamped down harder and tore...

Not yet... Not until he'd had his revenge.

As Leona bit down on the sensitive, nerve-filled spot, Cheka went limp, his body draping against Leona's, held up only by the thigh in his crotch and the fingers leaving imprints in his butt cheek. He shuddered as Leona slid his index finger down and then trailed it up the line of the well-defined crack, rubbing and seeking out the soft flesh of Cheka's virgin anus.

"I couldn't bring myself to ruin a child," Leona breathed, his untouched manhood incredibly hard—not only with sexual anticipation, but with sheer, vindictive hatred. "But you're not anymore, are you? Hmmm?"

Cheka whimpered, clutching at Leona's back as the tip of a finger played with his hole, dipping inside experimentally and meeting fierce resistance. Leona's nails were untrimmed, and the scratch he left must have hurt.

"Answer me," Leona roared, jamming his knee up against the base of Cheka's cock, which was sordidly erect. "Are you!?"

"No," Cheka gasped.

The combination of terror, arousal, hope, shock, and despair in that one, quiet syllable pushed Leona's limits. He gripped Cheka's ass in both hands, spreading the cheeks wide and jamming his finger in deep, ignoring the shuddering cry of pain.

"You don't know the temptation I've had to live with all these years," he moaned, rooting around to make room in there for the main event. "You don't know the humiliation! A brat like you, crawling all over me, claiming me like a toy...! I should have dropped a brick on your cradle!"

Cheka was gasping laboriously, in and out, in and out, his body trembling like a leaf in the wind, regardless of all the muscle he'd developed. That statement finally broke whatever twisted spell he'd been under to let Leona's actions go so unchecked...

"You didn't!" he cried, as if to say, "You wouldn't! You won't!"

Furious with the truth of the statement, Leona tore his finger free, slick with blood, and grabbed Cheka's bicep, swinging him around hard and flinging him to the edge of the bath. His feet dragged in the water, keeping him from making it as far as Leona had intended, and his back hit the steeply cornered edge. He howled in pain.

It hurt. Somewhere, deep down in the core of Leona's soul, it hurt... And that made him angry.

He splashed through the water and towered over his gasping, whimpering nephew, dragging him up by the hair. His tongue thrust into Cheka's mouth long before their lips touched, and he defiled every surface of that wet, gaping hole. The sounds Cheka made were tinged with pain, but they were rife with want as well.

For the first time, it occurred to Leona that his nephew was just as fucked up as his older brother—but in stark contrast to Farena, the son was a downright masochist. Leona chuckled, biting down on Cheka's tongue in experimentation and drinking in the long, low groan that poured out of that bruised throat.

He slowly pulled away, letting go and allowing Cheka to fall against the tiles. "Maybe," he whispered, bending down to plant his hands on the slippery, water-soaked ground, "I won't kill you once I'm done fucking you. Maybe I'll make you my slave, the way Farena's made me his... And when you're king...I'll rule at your back with my rod poked so far up your ass you'll choke on it."

If he'd wanted Cheka to be gutted and terrified, he was only half rewarded. A hesitant, pink tongue darted out to lick lips mottled with scrapes and bites from Leona's ungainly fangs, applied in the course of that raw, nasty kiss.

"That's all I've ever wanted," Cheka breathed. His pupils were blown wide with arousal and his voice shook, every syllable the earnest truth. "Since I can remember, it's all I've ever thought about. I was ashamed. I didn't want you to find out what a pervert I was, what a freak..."

Growling with the tension that coiled in his belly at those words as he imagined the child who had crawled all over him, snuggling in his lap and touching him so seemingly unwittingly... He hauled himself out of the bath, dragging Cheka out by the hair, slapping him down on the ground, and spinning him around so that his upper body sank back into the water and he had to fight to keep his head afloat.

"If you die, Farena's all that stands in my way, and then the throne is mine," Leona reasoned, tearing off his sodden clothes and hauling on Cheka's ankles as he knelt down. As he lifted Cheka's hips, his nephew's head dunked under the water. Cheka came up coughing and choking, reaching for him in an instinct for self-preservation. Leona grabbed his wrists in one hand and pushed him back under the water with the other—even as he aligned himself, wriggling and shifting his hips until he could feel Cheka's hole, rigid with resistance. That resistance wavered and flared as Cheka struggled, and then, when Leona pulled him up for air, tearing at the hair near his left temple, Cheka's ass opened wide for a moment, and the head of Leona's raging hard-on popped inside. He moaned, and Cheka shrieked, his body writhing, but as Leona cradled Cheka's head in his hand, keeping him from going under again, he was rewarded with a quiet plea.

"Deeper," Cheka begged. "I want to feel all of you inside of me."

"You sick slut," Leona hissed, giving in to the request a moment later and forcing his way in against all obstacles until his balls could swing and touch Cheka's shuddering ass.

For all the twitching, trembling pain, and all the agonized tears staining his face...Cheka was smiling, and it was the softest, warmest smile Leona had ever seen on him.

"Only if I can be yours," Cheka vowed, laying his head back on the water, held afloat only by Leona's hand. 

The sheer trust of that action rocked Leona to the core...until he realized, it wasn't trust at all. Cheka didn't believe that Leona wouldn't kill him... He just didn't care. He was getting exactly what he wanted.

Farena may have fucked Leona up for life with his subtle power plays and twisted games...but if it was that bad to be Farena's brother...what was it like to be his son...?

That emotional hook that was sunk deep into Leona's stomach tugged at him until he leaned so far over, he nearly toppled them both back into the water. His lips reached hesitantly for Cheka's, brushing them with the lightest of caresses in acknowledgment and promise. He wouldn't kill Cheka. He couldn't kill Cheka. Together... Together, they would kill Farena, and then Leona would be the shadow king, ruling through his obedient little puppet while doing none of the hard work. 

All of his dreams, all of his life's ambitions...were right at his fingertips.

With a grunt, Leona slammed his hips forward hard, crushing the tip of his cock against a solid wall of resistance that made Cheka scream. Unleashed, Leona poured all of his lifelong hatred and sorrow, all of his jealousy and anger into every violent thrust. As much as he longed to make Cheka pay, he relished even more the greedy, desperate need with which Cheka tried to pull him deeper, closer, harder... An ache of pleasure built within him until he could barely see for the blood rushing to his head...and then he came, biting down on Cheka's jaw and shuddering so hard, he finally did lose his balance, sending them both into the water.

He learned later that Cheka had very nearly drowned—fortuitously rescued by a Ruggie gone in search of his liege, Leona. He learned later, that Cheka had cum twice while Leona fucked him—and dry-peaked a third time as the water swallowed him down. He learned later...that Farena had watched the whole event from a balcony sheltered by palm leaves, overlooking the pool in secret for his voyeuristic pleasures.

He learned, later, that there was no escape from fate.


	2. Mirror Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cater x Cater x Cater x Cater x Cater...
> 
> Major Warnings: Angst, Clones, Gangbang, etc...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst-riddled Cater clone smut you've all been waiting for.

Green eyes, wet with tears, widened dramatically as the mirror rushed forward to meet his face... Or, rather, it was he who tipped toward the mirror, catching himself on the elaborate frame which cut into his hand with its sharp, rough edges. He shifted his palm to the reflective surface, smearing it with blood that seemed to streak across his face, covering his eyes with symbolic cynicism. The face that peered over his shoulder was unmarred.

How many? How many faces? Two in the mirror, two without... No, three... But which was real...?

The blood-smeared Cater in the mirror was a blind, unfeeling, soulless doll, his expression grim as he was taken from behind by the maniacally grinning Cater who seemed to hate him so viciously. But that wasn't him. That wasn't the real Cater, because the real Cater was drowning in a sea of sorrow so deep he could never kick his way to the surface before all his air ran out... The real Cater felt, and felt, and felt so much that there were no way to filter any one emotion through the outlet of his mask-like face. The real Cater was screaming inside so loudly that the voice-to-text function couldn't translate his agony, and so it read on the feed as "Happy," "Cheerful," "Excited," and "Positive."

Or maybe that wasn't the real Cater. Maybe the real Cater was the strong, angry, fed-up rebel thrusting out all of his frustrations so hard the mirror threatened to crack under his victim's hands. That Cater seemed connected to the face in the mirror, looming over his shoulder, the one whose twisted grin struck terror.

"That's it... Bend his hips forward just a little more... There! That's the perfect angle!"

The Cater whose hand throbbed with an untended cut agreed. It was the perfect angle. It was the perfect angle to turn him inside out and back again, stirring up his world like a maelstrom... But the Cater behind the camera was more concerned with the visual aesthetic. That was what mattered. That was the only thing that mattered. Through the lens, it didn't matter which of them was real or what they felt, only that they looked perfect.

The photographer's groan indicated the presence of another Cater, this one a helpless, subservient fiend who lived only to please—and please, he did. With his mouth, with his hands, with his teeth, his fingernails, his thighs... 

There were too many Caters to count, each taking turns or sharing that submissive receptacle between two or three at a time, each seeking different forms of pleasure and satisfaction, each expressing himself in different ways...

It was the blind, faceless Cater in the mirror who saw them all and knew them all—he who could never adequately reflect any one of them, and so, gave himself over to the dull, empty void. 

They all agreed, he was likely the one true Cater, but none of them would ever know for sure.


	3. Wrecked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vil has been used and abused by Idia, and Malleus' appearance only compounds his humiliation
> 
> Major Warnings: Big-ass Dragon Dick Throat-Fucking, S&M, Voyeurism, Degradation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partially inspired by Idia's Stargazer SR personal story.

Once you saw something like that, there was no going back. That kind of stain could never be lifted. It sat upon the soul and slowly bled into your being until it was a part of you, dark, twisted...and perverted. Vil had seen it enough times. He had felt it enough times.

This time, he was the stain. Filthy, disgusting, defiled... Chained to Idia's wall, his clothes torn to utter threads by thin whips of shredding hellfire, he was a mess of blood and bruises, dripping bodily fluids from his lips, chin, and damp, matted hair.

When he heard that deep voice full of rolling thunder, he shuddered all over, and then cried for the ache it caused. The tears didn't sting until they trailed down his chest, for that was where the torn flesh began, but by then, Vil's vision was blurred by the combination of tears and sweat. It was better that way. The look on Malleus' face was beyond shock, horror, or disgust. It was an expression for which Vil had no words. He shuddered again, and cried all the harder.

"We're in the middle of something here, Malleus-shi. I you don't mind—"

"Idia. That's no way to treat the man I love."

Vil's guts clenched and he held his breath, trying to stop time, or to disappear. For Malleus to see him like this was bad enough. For him to find out... For him to know...

"Don't," Vil begged, his voice tiny and abused by hours of screaming and groaning his throat raw. "Please don't..."

"This is all his choice," Idia leered, his lips pulled impossibly wide to reveal all those sharp teeth, stained pink from lapping up the smeared and blotted blood from Vil's latticed belly. "I suppose I could allow you to stay and watch... Unlike me, he does so enjoy having others' eyes on him."

"Is this true, Vil? Is this what you desire?"

Gritting his teeth, his vocal chords straining against his neck like thick ropes, Vil squeezed his eyes closed, averting his face. There was no way to hide, not from this...but he tried, all the same.

The sound that dribbled pathetically from his lips when a strong, unforgiving hand clenched in his hair was utterly humiliating. The dark robes he could make out through slitted, unfocused eyes filled him with dread. His head was slowly pushed up and back, grinding on the pivot of his neck until the ache spread down his shoulders. One little jerk, and the nerves that connected his brain with his body would pluck apart like a tree ripped from its roots.

"Answer me. Is this what you desire?"

His body didn't lie. From the moment Malleus had walked right through Idia's wards and stumbled upon their sordid secret, Vil's drained, exhausted length had begun to tingle with life, gradually swelling once more. It was standing at attention, now, raw and ready, eager to betray.

"Yes," Vil rasped. "Yes, I want this," he begged—no longer talking about Idia's whips and chains, but of the thickening, musky arousal he could scent right at the tip of his nose. 

Even with Malleus' fingers wrenching his hair, Vil strained forward, unable to contain himself, his nose bumping against that growing bulge. His lips parted. He stretched out his tongue...

A shrill chuckle sounded beyond Vil's field of vision, and then there were hands working open Malleus' robes and roughly tugging down his tented pants. For all he had seen in his young life, Vil had never seen anything like this... The bumps and ridges, the veins and bristles... Something in him keened with a deep ache, even as fluid leaked from his untouched cock.

Then, his tongue was burning and chaffing, his mouth stretching, and he was gagging on the massive erection that squeezed between his lips and slammed to the back of his throat. Even as he choked, Malleus crammed forward, smushing Vil's nose against his pelvic bone. There was no mercy, no rest for the wicked, as Malleus savagely fucked Vil's hideously abused throat until a thick, viscous fluid streamed down the walls of his trachea. He gagged and wretched, but Malleus was still there, plugging his mouth. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move.

A long, satisfied groan rained down about his ears like a fall of water, clinging to his skin and causing ripples of goose flesh all over. At last, Malleus dragged his monstrous length from Vil's bloodied mouth, and a mammoth gasp for air wracked Vil's entire body. Greenish semen trickled down his chin with Malleus' exodus, and Vill coughed and hacked, spitting up gobs of sticky fluid mingled with his own life's blood.

A sigh of sheer, malicious pleasure made Vil flinch. 

"I've been waiting for this," hissed the dragon in boy's clothing. "Don't tell me you're spent just yet."

Vil hadn't even realized that Idia was on his knees. All the while, he had been bobbing over Vil's rigid arousal, and as his body clamored for air around Maelleus erupting cock, Vill, too, had cum, too overwhelmed with sensation to fathom what was happening to him.

Exhausted, wounded, and utterly wrecked, Vil sagged. The last thing he remembered was Malleus' split tongue snaking between his lips to taste all that was left behind within them.


	4. Kiss of the Viper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamil and Vil exchange services, and the birthday boy grants himself a wish.
> 
> Major warnings: Snake Tongue, Character Death, Urethral Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Jamil!

His mouth full to bursting, Jamil relaxed his throat, resulting in a degenerate squelching gulp as he choked a little. He fought the reflex, his brow furrowing in concentration. When it got to much, he pulled back, stroking hurriedly so as not to lose momentum. Panting a little, he looked up. In contrast to the feverish heat rolling off of him, Vil was like an ice sculpture, gazing coldly down without a a trace of shame. His fingers flitted lightly over Jamil's cheek, lavender nails contrasting the sun-browned olive skin and dark braids hanging down over Jamil's shoulder.

Suddenly feeling exhausted, Jamil knew he had to do something to finish Vil off, or he would never get what he came for. Sighing out a heavy breath through his nose, Jamil stilled his pumping hand and closed his eyes. Drawing on the ancient desert magic that ran in the Viper blood, he enchanted his tongue. It slithered out between his lips like a snake, curling lasciviously about the head of Vil's cock. A sharp gasp informed him that his ploy was working, and he capitalized on it, causing the thin, snake-like tongue with a life of its own to flicker back and forth, teasingly, across the slit that now flared with excitement, leaking a bead of fluid, and then gradually more...

Wrapping his lips around Vil once more, Jamil hollowed his cheeks, sucking lightly while his tongue worked its magic, slithering and sliding, peeking inside that leaking slit and then retracting slowly again until Vil's fingers clenched on Jamil's scalp and the Pomfiore dorm leader shot his load with an uncharacteristic grunt. Jamil was too slow to dodge the full load, and what didn't get in his mouth pelted his chin, dripping down into his hair. He winced, his tongue reverting instantly, and wiped at the splashes of semen.

As he stood up, still comfortably hard from blowing Vil for so long, Vil palmed something from his dresser—a small, tightly capped glass bottle with a splash of something black in the very bottom. He lifted that same hand to brush his cheek, sheened with a light sweat, and met Jamils eyes.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked. "There's no antidote."

Smirking, despite his disgruntlement with the mess in his hair, Jamil held out his hand, palm up. "I'm sure," he stated, simply.

"Very well, then."

Vil handed over the bottle, leaning back in his chaise lounge and surveying Jamil from under his lashes.

"Jamil..."

"Mmm?"

"Don't screw this up. It would be a shame if I couldn't have you later."

Turning his back so that his scowl could not be seen, Jamil huffed. Once he was through, nobody would ever have him again. Nobody would ever dare. He would be the master of his own fate.

*

"Happy birthday, Jamil!" Kalim crowed, throwing his arms about his servant and vice dorm-leader's neck with a kiss to the cheek. "Do you like the cake I made? It's a viper, see?"

"You had the second years help you, I presume," Jamil grumped.

"They wanted to!" Kalim said cheerfully. "Everyone wanted to do something nice for you for your birthday! Everyone appreciates you so much...but nobody more than me! What would I do if you weren't here with me, Jamil...?"

"Whatever. Here, let's eat the cake before the chocolate melts. I'll get us some drinks."

"Let me! It's your birthday, so I want you to relax!"

"No, it's all right. I have to taste it, anyway."

"You're always the doing that... Risking yourself to keep me safe... I'd really rather you didn't. How would I go on if something happened to you...?" Jamil was focused on the drinks he was pouring and so, he wasn't looking, but he could hear the pained look that was probably plastered all over the boy's honest face. "Ahahah. Don't mind me. It's just so lonely to imagine life without you, Jamil... But it's nice to know that I don't have to worry about assassins or kidnappers, or anything else as long as you're around!"

Taking the glass Jamil handed him, Kalim grinned widely and downed the sparkling cider in one shot. He didn't stop to sniff it. He didn't pause to taste it. He didn't even look at it to see the slightly murky color that contrasted that of the glass in Jamil's hand. Watching with his eyes wide open so as not to miss a single breath, Jamil slowly drew his own glass to his lips. As he swallowed down the golden liquid, Kalim toppled backward, grin still plastered across his face. That stupid, trusting grin followed him right into death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it's everything you dreamed it would be!


	5. Incy Wincy Epel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epel/Jamil
> 
> Jamil is rescued from certain death by the unlikely Epel, and finds himself growing a bit of a hero complex.
> 
> Warnings: A spider was gravely harmed in the writing of this fic. And then Epel ate it.

Kalim had a new friend. At surface level, Epel seemed sweet and demure, with wide, innocent eyes that reminded of the jolly Scarabia dorm leader and pretty, pale hair the color of faded flowers...but there was something off about him, something Jamil couldn't quite put his foot on. 

As the two baby-faced boys played board games together, Jamil stood by on service, keeping them plied with tea and an assortment of salted and candied nuts. At first, he thought Kalim's overbearing manner might be a bit too much, and Epel might tire of it quickly, but the Pomfiore first year seemed to have made himself perfectly at home, lying on his belly and kicking his feet in the air as he place a piece down on the board with unnecessary force, grinning proudly.

He wasn't the innocent little cinnamon roll he made out to be... He was not Kalim's equal. His personality didn't match appearances, and it was beginning to grate on Jamil's nerves.

"I'll be right back with a refill," he said to the two, who largely ignored him. Gazing intently at the board, Kalim raised a hand and waved it absently, permitting Jamil to take his leave.

Snarling in silence, Jamil jostled his tray all the way to the kitchen and then slammed it down on the bench. First, he rinsed out the old pot of tea, and then began measuring out the new. He was just about to spell the water to heat when he sensed a presence at the entrance and whirled to see Epel leaning against the door frame.

"Hey," said the smaller boy.

"Did you follow me?" Jamil asked, frowning. "Why aren't you with Kalim?"

"He wanted to take a bathroom break, so I decided to come and see a little more of Scarabia. I thought there might be something worth my time in the kitchen."

"I supposed you're disappointed then," Jamil drawled, leaning back against the wall, his shoulders slumping in feigned relaxation.

"Not at all," Epel said with a smile. "The view down here is delicious... Oh, uh, don't look now..." He was slowly sidling closer. "But there's a spider next to your head."

Just that word slammed a hammer of dread into Jamil's belly. He completely ignored the warning, and turned his head left...and then right...and the moment the black lump came into view, a shriek began to sound in the back of his throat. He was caught in paralytic reaction, his mind insisting there was nothing to fear from a creature so tiny and insignificant while his body clamored to bolt across the room as far away as it could get. The fear and panic locked his limbs, stranding him at the menacing spider's mercy. It was watching him, clicking its nasty little fangs as if sizing him up...

And then it crunched under the impact of a solid palm, slamming the wall heel first. Jamil felt his guts explode with terror at the sound and motion that came so suddenly while he was waiting for the aggressive little bastard to jump at his face. The deathly terror faded some when he turned to see Epel leaning into him, braced against the wall behind him. Jamil's heart was still pounding, and his breath came in ragged little bursts, but the fear gradually began to dissolve.

"Got it," Epel said softly, his predatory manner suddenly turning the hard lump of coal in the pit of Jamil's stomach to something molten. 

Before Jamil could react, however, Epel craned up to meet him, thrusting his tongue past Jamil's lips and sucking at the tongue he caught there, trapping it lightly lightly between his teeth. Shocked, Jamil moaned, his prior terror quickly shifting to another rush of chemical and emotional mayhem until he was drowning in Epel's kiss, utterly baffled and yet uncannily comfortable.

Had he just been kabedonned? And rescued from certain death, in the same breath? By this tiny little snowflake of a first year?

Something was definitely melting as a sneaky hand delved beneath Jamil's clothes, tracing over his skin. Light fingers brushed his nipple, skimmed his abs, circled his hip, and then dipped into his pants, chasing the line of his pubes back and forth.

The kiss was broken by its instigator at the same moment he stretched his hand down to slip his fingers under Jamil's rapidly swelling length, slide it up under the material that trapped him. Upright, it peaked out from the waist of his pants, tapping against the lowest curve of his belly and creating a sticky thread from leaking tip to abdomen.

"I've been fantasizing about getting you alone," Epel murmured, casually wiping his hand against the wall, smearing it with spider guts.

Jamil didn't think he'd been so turned on by anything in his entire life.

"Jami...?" Wandering into the kitchen, Kalim's forward motion ground to a halt as he took note of Epel pinning his second in command to the wall. "I thought...I heard a scream..."

Before Jamil's eyes, Epel's face transformed into a semblance of childlike joy—all but the cores of those coal-fed eyes that continued to burn into Jamil's soul until Epel turned, laughing. His hips wriggled against Jamil's erection, his exposure hidden from Kalim only by Epel's slight body.

"Haha. There was a spider. But don't worry. I got it. See?" He waved his palm, stained with the life's blood of evil incarnate.

Idiot that he was, Kalim's eyes lit up and he grinned with boyish excitement. "Oh, good for you! Aren't you lucky, Jamil? It's a good thing you came by, Epel. Jamil's absolutely terrified of spiders."

"Come on! I'll show you where the bathroom is so you can wash your hands!" Kalim said cheerily, waving Epel after him as he headed back out into the hallway.

Pushing off from the hips, Epel turned back toward Jamil, licking his lips. He reached down and fondled the angry head of Jamil's erection with his murder-strained hand until he was out of reach, and as he backed away, he licked it wiping Jamil's precum, stained slightly pink, down his face.

He shut the door after himself, and Jamil sagged in relief, desperately stroking himself to completion as he replayed over and over again the memory of Epel rubbing that little beast's very life into the stone to become a part of the grime of ages.

For as long as he shuddered in orgasm, Jamil felt brave again, as he had before he laid eyes on the thing. Thanks to Epel, he would sleep tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omake/Extras
> 
> "Don't come in!"
> 
> "Uh, Jamil...? What are you doing in here? The second year class ended a while ago, didn't it?"
> 
> "What the hell is wrong with you, Epel!? I told you not to come in here!"
> 
> "Is... Is everything okay? Are you all right?"
> 
> "No, no I am not all right!"
> 
> "Do you...want to tell me why?"
> 
> "Don't you have EYES!? Turn around and see for yourself the monster that dwells alongside us!"
> 
> "Wow. Dramaatic. Uh... I don't see anything."
> 
> "There! It's right there! You're looking right at it!"
> 
> "What, this little old thing? It's just a tiny spider."
> 
> "It's bigger than your FACE!"
> 
> "Heheh... Hey, it kinda is... Is it bothering you?"
> 
> "What? No! Why would a spider the size of your head bother me!?"
> 
> "You know what? It's okay. You don't have to lie to me. Don't worry. I'll save you. I eat spiders for breakfast."
> 
> "Epel...? Epel what the fuck are you...? Don't EAT it! Ahhhh! Get away from me! It's IN you! That thing is IN you!"
> 
> "Haha. Sorry. I skipped breakfast."


	6. With This Ring, I Thee Reclaim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twisted Wonderland Main Story Chapter Five SPOILER alert.
> 
> Kalim has been separated from his slave for too long, and it's time to remind Jamil that the most unforgiving shackles aren't always tangible.

His father always said the clothes made the man. Of course, the upright merchant icon was speaking of jewels and silks that gave a man station, not of the leather and chains Kalim now wore about his body in scanty, artful drapes and fitted lines.

The clothes made the man, and these clothes were his second skin. In them, he was transformed. In them, he was brave, decisive, and strong... In them, he felt like Jamil's master as he had never done otherwise.

"On your knees, slave."

Jamil didn't make it easy. He was even more feisty and disobedient in his slave garb than he was when clad as Kalim's equal in his quaint Nightraven uniform.

Swinging his whip to lash bitingly at the back's of Jamil's knees, Kalim forced his slave to the ground. He felt powerful. The whip gave him power, as did the bracing lines and clasps of his leather wear. The part of him that would usually lament to see such fierce desperation written across Jamil's face reveled in it, now.

If he let the awareness of his power and position melt away, the kind and gentle merchant was there, lingering just under the surface. He let that part of him rise as he lowered his ringed hand to Jamil's jaw, raising up the slave's chin.

"It's all right, Jamil. You know I won't hurt you. It's only a game," he promised, letting the whip fall from his fingers, mutely hitting the ground beside Jamil's knee.

The bitter disdain in Jamil's eyes as he raised them―given permission, or so it seemed, by the return to form of his sweet master―spoke volumes of how witty and wonderful a game he considered it to be.

"Hurt me...? There's nothing you could do to hurt me now. You've already taken away every illusion of freedom I ever had. So don't bother with the charade. Do what you will."

Kalim smiled, giggling and brushing his thumb over Jamil's cheek. "You really thought you could come here and be free of me..." Shifting his weight, Kalim felt the leather creak and adjust, heavy chains swinging against his skin. His smile morphed into a grin, his fingertips curling to embed his nails in the deep, angry blush of a dark cheek. "I thought about letting you have these four years to yourself...but at the end of the day, I knew you would miss me too much. You did miss me, didn't you?" Kalim pressed. "Those two months on your own... Sleeping alone at night, empty of your master... You missed me."

"No," Jamil groaned, his eyes shut tight.

Shifting his weight, Kalim felt the sway of his bare cock, framed by the leather V that ran down the lines of his thighs. He bare erection hung against a horizontal band, and the scant movement reminded him of what he wore and how powerful it made him feel.

"You missed me," Kalim hissed, running his thumbnail across Jamil's lip with ruthless intent to scratch.

Jamil made an incoherent sound, his jaw dropping open. He was trembling.

"I don't need you," he whispered, his expression pained.

A triumphant cast came over Kalim's features as he straightened. "But you need this," he murmured, lifting his full, weeping cock and tapping it against Jamil's mouth, teasingly. "You missed this." He fed the tip between Jamil's lips and waited.

Eventually, Jamil capitulated. Not because he was afraid or resigned, or because he wanted to get it over with... Because there was nothing he craved more than the weight of Kalim's cock on his tongue, pressing against the back of his throat and forcing its way past lax muscles... Jamil was made to suck cock, and it turned him on so drastically, all his fire and rebellion was smothered until Kalim came down his throat, making him retch as a matter of physics.

For a moment, as Kalim's body tingled and the sensation of power faded to a dull buzz, he truly was that gentle merchant, and he gazed down at Jamil in awe. So fierce, so beautiful... All his.

"I missed you," he whispered, emotion welling in his eyes. "I couldn't spend another day without you..."

"Fuck you."

All that fierce beauty surged up toward Kalim as Jamil grasped the gold ring at his pelvis, yanking it down even as he himself rose, bringing their faces within inches of one another. Black nails spread beneath the ring, cupping Kalim's belly and clenching, as if to rip out his guts...or to pull him nearer, to hold him close. For, whatever his words implied, Jamil's eyes told another story. There was such conflict in them, such turmoil...but they were black with lust. His parted lips, issuing a soft growl, fell open with a gasp as Kalim's came within reach. His brow furrowed in pained anguish, and he closed the distance between them, biting his master's lip in his haste to seal a primal kiss, a demand of his addiction-trained instincts.

Kalim smiled against Jamil's lips, for his slave was well trained in the ways that mattered. His body always told the truth of his heart, whatever his mouth might claim.

Sweetening the kiss, Kalim appropriated it for his own, subduing Jamil's desperate lips and wild tongue. He pulled away with a soft, gentle brush, stimulating Jamil's tactile senses to the brim...then drew back his ringed fingers and slapped Jamil roughly across the cheek.

"These two months of delusion have spoiled you," Kalim crooned, letting his hand fall to lightly fondle the harness across Jamil's chest, barely brushing his nipple. "Such a shame... I've never enjoyed punishing you, you know. Now I have no choice." Kalim smiled. "Strip."

His hand to his cheek, Jamil was trembling. There was a rage in him, newly stoked by the illusion of freedom. It would have to be doused and stamped out before he could enjoy Kalim's kinder fancies again...

"Strip," Kalim repeated, in a low voice that came unnaturally to him. There was no more dangerous a sound to a slave trained by his own hand.

Jamil immediately began shucking what scanty material he wore in the form of a chain-belted loin cloth. The harness that hugged and framed his body remained, concealing nothing from Kalim's hungry gaze. 

"Head down. Ass up."

Jamil wordlessly did as he was told, hesitating only a moment before he bent forward over his knees, cushioning his face in his arms and raising his ass. He shuddered like a leaf when Kalim's palm came down on one bare cheek, rings and all. On the fifth, heavy slap, a diamond completed its 180 degree slip around Kalim's finger, tearing the skin. Kalim bent down and licked the shallow cut, then bit it, drinking in Jamil's raw cry.

He then soothed the cut with his tongue, slowly inching his mouth to Jamil's trembling hole... He forced his tongue past the clenched rim, then withdrew it and bit that, too, catching the slight pucker between his teeth and worrying. His nose was flattened to Jamil's tailbone, his cheeks pinched between two perfect, muscled globes. He moaned. That moan traveled all the way through Jamil and came out the other end, from Jamil's own throat.

From a clip at his waist, Kalim slipped a gold, open-ended, ruby-studded ring. It was an odd sort of size and shape for a finger...but slicked up by the precum dripping there, it slipped around the head of Jamil's growing erection with only a little discomfort, though it would not be removed so easily once the sensation of it made him swell dramatically.

Once it was affixed, Kalim reached for another accessory clipped to the chain at his waist, a gold-studded leather band. This, he affixed not to Jamil, but around the base of his own cock, strapping his balls tightly to ensure that his erection would endure for however long he decided to fuck his disobedient slave into submission.

There were other devices, such as the multi-banded gates of hell that would prevent Jamil from cumming at all, doomed to purgatory until his erection subsided. There was the ribbed, hollow sound that would make every orgasm an ordeal so intense he would be a mindless idiot before too long. There were other plugs and rings to torture and reward him in various other ways, but it had been too long since Kalim had taken his slave like this, and he intended for the experience to be simple and daunting. Let Jamil suffer the restriction of Kalim's orders and permission, not that of unforgiving metal. Let the simple ring and its open, beaded ends stimulate him and remind him with every throb of pressure to whom he belonged. Let Kalim's rigid, ruthless rod ram him to filling until dawn...or until Kalim could no longer restrain his own, neglected need.

Leaking and eager, Kalim took hold of the harness that hugged Jamil's burnished skin and dragged his cock up and down, gradually beginning to stuff it into the dry hole that belonged to him. It was time Jamil remembered that everything—from his mind and soul, to his surfaces and planes, to the negative space between them—everything that was a part of him belonged to Kalim, and always would.

"Tell me you're mine," Kalim whispered. his eyes rolling up behind his fluttering eyelids. Nothing felt quite like the vice of Jamil's ass around his manipulated erection. He waited, swaying just slightly, anchored by his grip on Jamil's harness. "Tell me what we both know, and then I'll give you what you want."

"As if you don't want it," Jamil gasped back, his ass squeezed tight in restraint.

Opening his eyes, Kalim looked down at the back of the man he owned. It was a proud back, bent reluctantly in servitude. Loosing his hold on the leather, Kalim walked his fingers over smooth skin, painted upon artfully straining muscles.

"Shall I remove the ring?" Kalim asked, casually.

Jamil shook his head without hesitation, his beaded braids swinging and clacking in betrayal of his desperation.

"Jamil..."

"I'm yours!" Jamil groaned, his voice cracking in agonized shame, rocking back into Kalim so as to make them both see stars.

It truly had been too long...for Jamil, as well as for Kalim. The resilient slave usually held out for several escalations of threats, slaps, and scratches.

No matter. Now, Jamil knew as well as Kalim did, that he was captive by his own volition.

Beginning with a slow, irregular, rocking, Kalim reached down to fondle Jamil's heavy, engorged member, running his fingers up over the ring and playing with the ridges and lines it made. Jamil's arms almost went out from under him as he made a pathetic, wordless noise, his cock twitching under the light touch.

"No," he whispered.

Kalim knew exactly what that word meant. Jamil was no blushing virgin to be ashamed of imminent ejaculation. He was not rebelling, or lamenting the suddenness of it... He was shocked at himself. He hadn't cum so fast since the early days of his training, and he was loathe to give this physical admission of the affirmation he had just uttered. 

"Tell me again," Kalim hissed, tickling the sensitive, swollen head of an arousal on the edge. He immediately pulled back and rammed himself in deep, squeezing Jamil's balls as his slave jerked, cumming instantly.

"I'm yours!" Jamil cried hoarsely. "I'm yours, I'm yours until I die!"

It was exquisite. Those words dripping from Jamil's lips like so much treacle... Kalim licked his lips, gripping Jamil's harness again and beginning to fuck him in earnest. It was going to be a long, and very eventful night.


End file.
